Hoodie (37 page)

Anton buried his face once more in his hands. He didn’t want to believe it. They could get over this. They could both heal and move on. He knew he wanted that, and he knew she wanted that too.

Emma’s father stood up slowly and placed his hand on Anton’s shoulder. He stood there for a few moments then walked away.

***

It was late and Anton was allowed to see her for five minutes. The nurses were stubborn and wanted to keep him out completely, but his mother persuaded one of them to let him in. She was firm in her five-minute time limit, telling him he’d not see Emma again if he became difficult, and he nodded in understanding. She was disinclined to leave the room, and only did so when she was told to go and check on another patient. She closed the door quietly behind her.

He took Emma’s hand immediately. He bent low to kiss it, thinking for a brief exhilarating moment that he felt her stir. But it was just his imagination. She lay motionless and very far away from him.

“Emma?” he said softly. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m’ll say it anyway. I love you.”

He waited, but she did not move.

“You gotta know that,” he continued. “I can’t believe the way I talked to you the other day. I was outta my mind, you’ve got to know that. I can’t even imagine my life without you. And I know I’m only eighteen. I’m supposed to have the whole world opened to me, right? I don’t want none of that. I just want you. You my world, Emma, and I just want you.”

He wiped at his face and looked at her earnestly.

“Open your eyes, Emma,” he demanded softly. She stayed unmoving.

“Emma, do you hear me?” he asked. He was crying outright, the strain in his voice unbearable to his own ears. He did not recognize himself. “I love you,” and he bent his head over her hand. “I love you. Do you hear me?”

I hear you, she thought. Don’t you hear me saying that? Her mouth never moved, but she thought it did.

Thursday, July 16

They drove to the park in silence. It wasn’t angry silence or scared silence. It was the silence that comes when two people have not seen each other for a long time. They were shy and tentative. Anton’s heart hung low in his chest as though it were a battered star hanging on by a mere string. If the string broke, he knew the light would go out inside of him forever. Emma’s heart was hopeful, like the brightness that follows a mighty storm. The clouds had cleared and now there was only the brilliance of the sun. She reached her hand over to his and gently took it.

He wanted to ask her if she liked the flowers he sent. He made sure they were waiting for her when she was released from the hospital. He had stopped going to see her after a week because it was too painful. Her parents became more and more uncomfortable with his presence, and he wanted to be respectful of them. Her condition was not improving either, and he could not bear to be so close to her while she was so clearly far away. In a dreamland, he thought, and wished he could go with her. When she woke up, he wanted to see her immediately. But there was already so much distance and so many other people who needed to see her. He didn’t want to be in the way. And after all, what did he think he could possibly say to her?

Anton parked the car and told her to stay seated. He walked around to her side and opened the door. He picked her up carefully, cradling her like a baby, and carried her to a park bench near a familiar spot they so often occupied in former days. He sat down, holding her on his lap, letting her head fall gently on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure that he could speak right then. He didn’t have the words, so he stroked her back instead and relished the feeling of her face nuzzling his neck.

“Do you want to see them?” she asked after a time.

He didn’t know how to reply. Yes, he wanted to see her wounds. He didn’t know why. He knew what they would do to him, how he would lose it completely when he saw the aftermath of his failure. He could not rid himself of the feeling that it was all of his fault that she got attacked. His mother told him time and again that he could not blame himself, that it wasn’t his fault. And her words would soothe him and begin to change his mind. But then he would remember the words he said to Emma that day she came to his apartment and how he left her alone all week to believe that he hated her and didn’t care what happened to her.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay,” she said. “They’re not so bad.”

His nod was almost imperceptible but she saw it and lifted her shirt to expose a heavily bandaged stomach. She peeled back one of the bandages, and Anton saw a small thin purplish wound stitched cleanly. He was tempted to run his finger over it, but thought better. He didn’t want to get germs on it.

Emma placed the bandage back over the wound and pulled down her shirt.

“See? Not so bad,” she said. “The doctor said they’ll heal nicely. The scars won’t be too noticeable.”

Anton nodded but said nothing. He felt the lump in his throat and concentrated on pushing it down. Her beautiful stomach, he thought. The creamy whiteness forever scarred because of him.

“I’ve got battle scars,” she said lightly. “Does that make me gangster?”

The tears that hovered on the edge of his eyes spilled over, and he cradled her head under his chin so that she would not see. He stroked her hair as he searched for his voice. It was failing him.

“Yeah,” he croaked softly. “You gangsta.”

“Good,” she replied, pushing her body into him. He wanted to envelop her completely, shield her from everything on the outside. But he couldn’t. It was impractical to hide her away forever. He knew he could not, and he suddenly remembered that she would be leaving soon for college.

It was over. He knew, but she did not. He could tell by the way she nuzzled him, how her body relaxed in his embrace, how she sighed when he kissed the top of her head. She was still hopeful, he thought, and that made her beautiful. Suddenly he could not bear to imagine a life without her.

He could try, he thought. He could try hard to make it work. In spite of all of the pain he felt, the hopelessness, he could not give her up. He knew he should, but he wasn’t strong enough. He needed her and decided that he had to try. Perhaps they simply needed more time to heal.

“Tell me a story about when you were little,” she said after awhile.

He thought he had exhausted them all. He was sure that she knew every detail about him by now, that even in the few short weeks of their relationship, he had given her everything, shown her everything about himself so that now he sat empty searching for a story she already knew.

“Well, let’s see. Did I tell you ‘bout the time I came home drunk? And mama whooped me so hard, I thought I was gonna die? Did I tell you that one?” he asked.

She laughed softly. “No,” she replied, but he had.

“Okay then. So me and Kareem and Johnny D was goin’ to Kareem’s older brother’s house one time. I think I was like twelve or somethin’. So anyways, we was gonna hang out and play video games, right? We wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble,” he began, and she settled in for the story.

She listened while he stroked her hair and held her close.

EPILOGUE

“Baby, you know I hate bananas,” Anton groaned as he examined the contents of his lunch bag.

“How many wives actually pack their husband’s lunches?” Emma asked.

She was standing at the kitchen sink wearing a light cotton dress, her long hair pinned in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She turned to face him, the question still on her face, and he smiled as he looked at her swollen belly.

“And anyway,” she went on, “they’re good for you.”

“You right,” he said walking towards her. He bent low and pressed his lips to her stomach.

“Your mama always right,” he said into her belly. “Don’t forget that.”

He straightened up and kissed the top of her head.

A cry pierced the quiet moment, and Emma disappeared to the nursery. She came back holding a little girl who nuzzled her neck.

“Well, that was good,” Emma said. “We made it a whole fifteen minutes.”

“Baby girl, why you not sleep for yo’ mama?” Anton asked the small child.

She had dark curly hair and light blue eyes. She smiled at her daddy and reached for him. He took her and cradled her in his arms.

“You’re going to be late, Anton,” Emma warned.

“You say that every day, and every day I’m right on time,” he said kissing his daughter on her cheeks and forehead and nose and chin. She giggled and grabbed at his lips.

Emma rolled her eyes and began emptying the dishwasher.

“Go to work,” she ordered. “You’re the only one with the paying job right now, remember?”

“You hear yo’ mama talkin’ to me like that?” he asked the little girl, and she squealed with delight.

He placed her on the kitchen floor and looked around for something to distract her. He pulled a wooden spoon out of the utensil holder beside the stove and gave it to her. He watched her briefly as she sat holding it poised over the floor before bringing it down on the tiles with a sudden smack. He smiled and walked over to his wife, taking the plate out of her hand and tossing it carelessly on the counter.

“Anton,” Emma said exasperated.

“Mmm, say my name again,” he cooed, pulling her into him.

She cocked her head in mild irritation, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Do you know you the prettiest thing on the planet? I wanna job where I can get paid to just sit around and watch you all day. How I get a job like that?” he asked her, placing a hand on her belly and rubbing it.

She laughed.

“You know I’m’ll want another one after this,” he said.

“You’re insane!” she replied. “If you had it your way, I’d be pregnant for the rest of my life!”

“That’s right,” he agreed, moving his hand farther down.

“Anton!” she squealed when his hand was in between her legs.

“Come on. Let’s go practice,” he said.

“You’re impossible,” she said slapping his hand away. “Go to work.”

“Fine, but I’m’ll get me some of that when I get home,” he said decidedly.

“I love you,” she said standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. As usual, she couldn’t reach and had to pull him down to her lips.

“I love you,” he replied, kissing her forehead.

“I love you,” she said as they walked together to the front door, and the familiar routine started.

“I love you,” he said descending the front steps of their small blue house.

“I love you,” she replied as he reached the driveway.

“I love you,” he called from inside their car.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Emma woke with a start. She was shivering and sweating again, her side of the bed drenched with it. It was the third night. The same dream. She instinctively put her hands to her belly. It was flat. She lifted her shirt and fingered the lines of her scars. They were barely visible now, but she could still feel them, the healed skin thinner and papery. She turned to the man lying next to her. He was snoring soundly, reaching every now and then to scratch at his pale cheek. She looked at the clock. It was early, but not too early to get up. She knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. She could not reenter the dream.